lost in you
by HeadOverConverses
Summary: he could feel the fingers stroke lightly through his hair. was this heaven? - dean/cas


**title:** lost in you

**summary: **He could feel the fingers stroke lightly through his hair. Was this heaven?

**pairing:** Destiel; Dean/Castiel

**dedication:** Taylor, or Fopchan, my love. :D She wanted angsty-turned-fluffy Destiel, and well, ask and you shall receive. /heart

**notes:** First ever Supernatural fanfiction. And uhm, I have many pairings I ship, but Destiel is my OTP. So yeah. Here we go!

.

.

.

_Everything will be okay in the end, and if it's not okay, then it's not the end._

Dean was in agony.

White-hot pain that flared behind his eyelids when he breathed, when he blinked, when he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Breathing was necessary, he knew, but painful and almost not quite worth it. He felt like his ribs were broken - and they probably were, judging by the sharp jabbing pain in his sides.

His eyes were swollen, and blinking was the only thing he could do the clear the blood and blur from his vision. It didn't help much, or last long, but it was something he could almost control in this situation.

His throat was dry and raw from his screaming. His tongue felt thick, as did his face. Was he unconscious? No, he was in too much agony and the sun overhead was hot and uncomfortable and made the blood on his face even stickier, if that was possible.

He couldn't feel his legs, which was startling. Arms like lead lay useless by his sides - his _aching_ sides - and he realized the truth of the matter.  
>Death was coming for Dean, that was unavoidable. But to think he was going to die at the hands of the devil...<p>

The thought of Lucifer sent a rush of fury through the young man, but the accompanying adrenaline was useless.

His body was trying so desperately to function, to continue.

He could count each heartbeat, a symbol of rebellion against the oncoming darkness. Refusing to die, his body was overworking itself to keep going. If he could just stand, if he could just get in the car, _if he could just..._

Unfocused emerald eyes fell on Bobby's body, lying motionless on the ground several feet away. He'd died because of their failure. _His_ mistake.

He wasn't sure what had been harder; watching Lucifer, who was wearing Sam like a tux to the prom, break Bobby's neck, or watching him snap his fingers and cause Cas to explode.

Further away from Bobby was the bloody patch of grass that was all that was left of the dark-haired angel.

Dean's heart wrenched and stuttered, faltering from its furious-paced beating for a moment as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

Cas was gone. _Gone._ Not coming back. That was it, the end.

And Dean was going to join him soon, he could tell.

_'Well, not join him, not with everything I've done. But it's the thought that counts.'_

As discomforting as it was to imagine going back to Hell, it would hurt less, he hoped, to know he had no strings left untied this time.

No brother to suffer miserably without him, no Bobby to blame himself for his idjit's and their screw-ups.

No Castiel.

Another lurch in his stomach, one that had nothing to do with the blood he could taste in his mouth.

The lack of a certain angel did not feel like a plus, or a relief. There was still a part of him, somewhere amidst the bruises and broken bones, that was begging and pleading the man upstairs to do some magic and bring Cas back.

But then again, Dean Winchester and God had never had a very strong relationship, you could say.

Even still, the young man pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut in effort.

_'Please please please Cas where are you I know you're there answer me damn it Cas you son of a bitch come on-'_

"I knew you'd call me back."

Shock flitted through the broken young man again, eyes flying open, and squinting against the migraine that bloomed behind his eyes.

"C-Cas- but, how?"

Staring at him in a mixture of relief and remorse was Castiel.

He looked like he normally did, but the air about him was unfamiliar, and he carried himself in a different manner.

"Dean," the angel began again. "I'm sorry." He strode over to Dean quickly, his own stomach wrenching at the sight of the young man crumpled against his prized car.

Dean was dying, and something about that didn't sit right with him. It felt wrong, sounded wrong.

He wasn't _allowed_ to die, as far as Castiel was concerned.

He knelt beside the man he'd come to know as his best friend, a hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

Even with the minimal amount of pressure he exerted, he could see the grimace that crossed Dean's face, despite his attempt to hide it.

A weak chuckle escaped from Dean's lips, green eyes meeting blue for the first time since he watched Lucifer destroy the man before him.

Something changed in Cas's expression as he met Dean's eyes, and suddenly things made a little more sense.

Dean was fading fast, only halfway-conscious. It was a miracle he wasn't already dead.

Dean felt warm fingertips brush along his aching forehead, and he smiled just slightly. He'd recognize that touch anywhere.

That touch was burned into his senses, was everything he associated with safety and security.

The handprint on his shoulder was testament to the figurative and literal hold the angel had on him.

"Dean, can you hear me?" The words were soft, murmured against his ear.

The pain was already fading, and things were becoming sharper in clarity. Was he dead?

He could feel the fingers stroke lightly through his hair. Was this heaven?

"...Y-Yeah." His reply was rough and quiet, but there. Just the simple word brought such a profound relief to Castiel that he dropped all pretense and shifted around.

Keeping one hand on the back of Dean's head, he let the other wrap around to the man's back, and pull him into an awkward sort of hug.

It wasn't perfect, nothing they ever did was.

But it was enough.

"I'm sorry, but I'm here now."


End file.
